


something old, something new

by bropunzeling



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 11:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8977546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bropunzeling/pseuds/bropunzeling
Summary: “You,” Alex says, pointing at him. “Me,” he continues, pointing back at himself. “Married.”“Oh,” Nicky says. “Oh.”[It doesn't go any smoother after that.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophiahelix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiahelix/gifts).



> sophiahelix: i hope you enjoy this! #itried
> 
> literally nothing about this has been thoroughly researched, betaed, or spot-checked besides the existence of a bäckström brother and that wedding planning, as we all know, is ridiculous. my biggest and brightest thanks to kate, who basically pushed me through the outlining stage.
> 
> you know where the title's from.

“Hey,” Alex says as he walks into the kitchen of their apartment, setting down a grocery bag on the counter. “I have idea.”

“Hmm?” Nicky doesn’t look up from his email, since his mom sent pictures of his new niece. Ingrid is incredibly small and wrinkly and red-faced, with a tiny pink knit hat. She’s adorable. 

“We should get married.”

“Mmm,” Nicky hums back. He wonders if Kris was serious about needing a new bassinet for the baby – wait, shit. He looks up to find Alex looking back at him, mostly bemused. “What?”

“You,” Alex says, pointing at him. “Me,” he continues, pointing back at himself. “Married.”

“Oh,” Nicky says. “Oh.”

Alex gives him a second, leaning against the counter. He’s wearing one of Nicky’s old practice shirts, the 19 fading away. The look on Alex’s face is the same as when he first suggested moving in with Nicky, like he’s very carefully trying to make something planned seem spontaneous, but can’t quite pull it off.

“Oh,” Nicky says again, feeling very stupid. “I – “

“You not have to answer now,” Alex says quickly. “Can think about. Just – suggesting.”

Now that Nicky’s thinking about it, it does seem pretty straightforward. They’ve been together for four years. The team – hell, probably half the Metropolitan Conference at this point – knows, not that they would say anything to the media. He’s pretty sure the front office even has a contingency plan just in case someone gets married in Vegas, and this isn’t close to Andre or Tom getting too drunk over All-Star Weekend.

And it’s not as if their lives will change, he tells himself. Nicky will still wake up next to Alex and brush his teeth first and tease Alex about his bedhead. They’ll still make breakfast smoothies and “carpool” to practice and be them, same as before.

He can tell Alex is trying not to look nervous, but he can see Alex’s fingers flexing on the counter.

Nicky stands up and walks over to Alex, puts a hand on his waist. “Yes,” he says. “We can do that.”

-

It turns out that when Alex suggested getting married, he actually had planned it, sort of.

“Am thinking we do in the summer, after camp,” Alex says at practice. They’re idling by the boards while the d-men run drills, waiting to practice one-on-ones. “Everyone already here then.”

“Oh,” Nicky says. “Right. That makes sense.”

“Not have to be big and fancy,” Alex continues, leaning on his stick and surveying the team. “Friends. Family.”

“Liar,” Nicky replies, looking at him sidelong. In all the time he’s known Alex, nothing has ever not been somehow big and fancy. Alex is many things, and one of those things is ostentatious.

Alex laughs. “Maybe little bit big.”

“And fancy,” Nicky adds.

Alex grins at Nicky, smile creased at the corners. “And fancy.”

“Well,” Nicky says, leaning on his own stick as Nisky and John chirp Braden. “As long as it’s not too crazy.”

“Crazy? Us?” Alex skates closer, wrapping an arm around Nicky’s shoulders. Oshie is definitely giving them a look right now, not that Alex will care. “Never. Will be perfect.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Nicky says dryly, but he can’t help smiling anyways. Alex is infectious like that.

Coach calls them up, and Alex detaches himself from Nicky’s shoulders. “Perfect!” he shouts, and Nicky laughs. The rink air is cool on his neck after all of Alex’s warmth. It’s going to be a good afternoon.

-

After they play the Islanders, and win, and the Rangers, and lose, they go back to DC. Nicky’s personally ready to drop as soon as he walks through the front door after their flight, but Alex apparently has other plans.

“Have things to look at,” he says mysteriously, tugging Nicky towards the couch even though all Nicky wants to do is pass out or maybe die.

“We can look later,” Nicky tries. “It’s late.”

“Later is practice,” Alex relies. “Not want to think about hockey right now, so. Come look at venues with me.”

Nicky groans, but follows Alex to the couch, where a folder of printouts waits ominously. 

It turns out all of the venues Alex likes are, true to form, overly ostentatious and very gold. Nicky is tempted to say no to all of them, and also this, and pull Alex to bed where he doesn’t have to think about event space.

“Not so bad, yes? Could fit all friends, even ones we not like so much,” Alex says, gesturing at some restaurant with a mirrored reception hall. Everything is very shiny.

“True,” Nicky says, when it becomes clear Alex expects him to say something. “Listen, Alex. It’s late. I’m tired. Can we look tomorrow?”

“You promise we’ll look?” Alex asks. “Have other things we have to do too. Look up license, think about food. Make guest list.”

“You can show me the list tomorrow morning,” Nicky says through a yawn. “Right now, you should take me to bed.”

Alex’s eyes light up, and the folder goes back on the coffee table. “Not too tired for that?”

Nicky stands up, groaning a little at the ache in his hips, and holds out a hand. “I suppose I can stay up,” he says, yanking Alex up to him, close enough that he can smell Alex’s cologne.

Alex takes him to bed.

-

It’s when Nicky’s looking up how to get a marriage license in the District of Columbia (item two on Alex’s scrawled out Wedding To-Do List, which takes up three Post-Its and half of a legal pad) while Alex is out running errands that it really hits him. 

“Holy shit,” he says, pushing back his hair and leaning back in his chair, away from a list of requirements for the clerk’s office. Holy fucking shit, he’s getting married. They’re going to sign this paper in front of a civil servant and God and probably Greenie somehow, and everything will change.

It shouldn’t feel as enormous as it does, like a weight pressing down on his sternum, restricting his breathing. Practically speaking, they are basically married – contracts locked in, house keys distributed, Alex’s caviar next to Nicky’s favorite kind of mustard in the fridge. They live together, they play together, their lives are together. A piece of paper shouldn’t make it different, shouldn’t change anything.

But it is different, somehow. Nicky doesn’t think they’ve ever been this clear about who or what they are to each other. It wasn’t like they ever said to each other that they were dating in the beginning, that this or that was a date. One day, Nicky was alone and resigned to it, and the next day he wasn’t because Alex was there with him, and what happened in between is hazy and unclear. Even now they haven’t gone around saying things like “My partner, Alex” or “My boyfriend, Nicklas.” In some ways the fact that they’re together is real and tangible and in others it still feels as unlabeled and unspoken as when they first started coming home and falling into bed. 

And now here they are – here Nicklas is, staring at his laptop screen, “How to obtain a Marriage License” staring back, clear as day.

They sign this paper, and then everything is different. It isn’t the same old them, and Nicky doesn’t know if he wants to see what the new them would be like.

He should talk to someone, maybe. To Alex? Not yet. To Greenie or Marcus? Definitely a no.

He wonders what time it is in Sweden.

-

Kris picks up on the third ring. “’Lo?”

“Kris. Hi,” Nicky replies. He fiddles with a pencil left on the kitchen table, tapping it on the wood. Hopefully he can get through this before Alex comes back.

“Nicky, hey.” Kris sounds slightly more alert now. 

Nicky guiltily eyes the microwave clock – it’s midnight there. “Sorry to wake you,” he replies.

“No, no, no worries. Is something wrong?” There’s a rustling noise, probably Kris getting up. “You’re not hurt again?”

“No, no,” Nicky replies. “That’s – no.”

He tries to think of how to phrase his question. There’s a long exhale on the other end of the line. 

“Well, spit it out,” Kris says finally.

“Alex asked if we – if I – to get married,” Nicky says. 

“… Should I be saying congratulations?” Kris asks.

“I don’t know if that’s what I want,” Nicky replies in a rush. “It feels like too much, all at once. All heavy, and huge.”

Kris swears softly, and then sighs. “How so?”

“I – I like what our lives are, now, and it shouldn’t be a big change, but it is. I feel like everything –“

“Will be different,” Kris supplies when Nicky trails off. “Well, yes. And no.”

“That’s not helpful,” Nicky snaps back.

“True things aren’t always helpful,” Kris replies. “It is different, but it is still the two of you.”

“I understand that,” Nicky groans. “I don’t know what to do. Or say.”

Kris clicks his tongue. It’s Nicky’s least favorite of his brother’s habits, and yet right now he misses it. “Well, the first step is to talk to Alex. After that – you figure out what you want, and how you want to get it.”

“You make it sound easy,” Nicky sighs, leaning on the kitchen island.

Kris laughs a little. “It’s not. But you’ll figure it out.”

Nicky sighs. “How’s Ingrid?” he asks clumsily, hoping his brother will accept the change in conversation.

Fortunately, Kris goes with it. “Very cute. Sleeping better than she was, thank god. Thank you for the bassinet, by the way.”

“Anything for my favorite niece.”

“She’s your only niece,” Kris says drily.

Nicky rolls his eyes. “What, she’s still my favorite. Anyways – thanks. I’ll see you soon, yes?”

“Soon enough,” Kris replies. “Tell Alex hello for me.”

“Will do,” Nicky replies, and Kris hangs up with a click.

Nicky’s still by the kitchen counter when Alex comes back from grocery shopping. His laptop is even open to the same page about marriage licenses.

“Hey,” Alex says, dropping the groceries on the counter. “Anything wrong?”

“No, no,” Nicky replies quickly. “Nothing. I was just talking to Kris.”

“Oh.” Alex says, brushing a stubbly kiss against Nicky’s cheek before beginning to sort through bags. “How is Kris? How is baby?”

“Ingrid is good. Sleeping more, Kris says.” Nicky moves to grab the produce to sort everything properly and save the apples from being shoved into a drawer with the celery.

“Of course she perfect. Is a Bäckström,” Alex replies with a laugh.

Nicky smiles back weakly, and goes back to sorting vegetables.

-

The next time Alex comes up with an off-days’ worth of planning, Nicky tries to get out of it.

“I’m kind of tired,” he says from his spot on the couch, where he’s watching the Food Network. “Can we stay in?”

“Could,” Alex says, draping himself over the back and leaning on Nicky’s shoulders. “But that would waste our free time. Can do one thing, then come back.”

“Okay,” Nicky sighs, resigned to it. 

But of course, even just one thing still feels enormous, because Alex wants them to look into venues in person this time. He even has a map, places highlighted in bright gold. Nicky almost didn’t expect Alex to be this organized, but then again, it is Alex. He can think things through – it’s just that so often he chooses not to, just to be a little disarming. 

This time around, though, Alex’s planning side has come through, and he pulls Nicky along from venue to venue, chattering about online reviews and pros and cons while Nicky follows a step behind. They go from restaurant to garden to restaurant to hall, event planner after event planner offering them brochures and menus and quotes. Each one feels bigger than the last, taller ceilings that host more tables and offer more expensive entrees. Every event planner asks tons of questions, and by the second place Nicky has stuck to one-word answers, unsure of how to proceed. There’s questions about linens and vision and theme colors and Nicky just – fuck. 

“What do you envision, Nick?” Madison – or maybe Margaret – asks him. Even her voice is perky.

“I – I’m not sure,” Nicky says. He kind of fucking hates being called Nick, especially by this woman.

Alex drops a hand on Nicky’s thigh, leaving it there. “Something little fancy, but not too much. Lots of guys, not know how to behave.”

Madison-or-Margaret titters. “I understand completely.” She goes on to talk about their flexible arrangements while Nicky looks around the restaurant. It’s nice enough, he guesses. Lots of windows.

“We want to make sure this day is absolutely perfect,” Margaret-or-Madison continues. “We know how important this is – the next chapter of your lives together.”

Nicky’s head hurts.

-

“I’m done,” Nicky says shortly as they leave. He has five different brochures shoved in his pocket, and he’s half tempted to shove all of them in the trash can by the bus stop.

Alex blinks at him. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Want to go home?”

“Yes,” Nicky says.

“Okay,” Alex replies slowly. He waits a second for Nicky to pass him as they head to the car, then carefully sets a hand on the small of Nicky’s back. It should be comforting, but Nicky still feels as taut as a wire.

They don’t talk on the drive back home. Alex hums along to top-40 radio – Nicky will never understand why Alex loves Ariana Grande so much, but, well, at least he knew what he was getting into – while Nicky stares out the window. People are starting to put up lights for the holidays, small and glittering as the evening sets in early.

It’s not until they get to their apartment, stripping off jackets and scarves and shoes and shuffling towards the kitchen, that Alex breaches the silence.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nicky says as he walks to the cupboard. He should have some water. Maybe it’ll help his temples stop hurting. “Just tired.”

“Bull fucking shit,” Alex snaps back. “Nicky. Tell me what wrong.”

First Nicky pours himself a glass of water, then drinks it slowly. Then, finally, he says, “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

The words hang heavy between them. Nicky thought that maybe saying it would make his chest feel lighter, but it doesn’t. His head still hurts.

Alex blinks at him. “What you mean, this?” he asks.

Nicky gestures at the pile of brochures and print outs on the kitchen island. “This – marriage thing. I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Why?” Alex leans on the island, fingers tapping on the countertop. “What is your worry?”

“I didn’t realize how big this would be – telling our families, and holding a wedding, and getting married, all of it.”

“It’s not big,” Alex says. “It’s us, yes? Just – “ He gestures around at their apartment. “Us.”

Nicky shakes his head. “It’s not just us, though. We’ll have to tell people. Change contracts and policies. The team will have to know, and then what if the media does too? It’s not –“ He sucks in a breath, pauses. He can’t figure out how to explain to Alex how momentous it would be, like a seismic shift under his feet. Fuck English, anyways.

“Nicky,” Alex says carefully. He half reaches out to Nicky, then stops, resting his hand back on the counter. Nicky half wants Alex to touch him and half wants to stay away.

“Things will change, and – I don’t want to lose what we have, right now,” Nicky finally says. “I just – I don’t know if this – if a wedding, or marriage, if that’s a good thing.”

“Does this mean you want to break up?” Alex asks. His voice is very soft, and it fucking hurts. He looks like someone hit him in the stomach with a slap shot, and its Nicky’s fault. Fuck.

“No, no. I wouldn’t – I don’t want that.” He wouldn’t – shit. _Fuck_ English.

Alex sighs. “Then what _do_ you want, Nicklas?”

“I don’t know,” Nicky says quietly. “Just – give me more time.”

When he looks at Alex, Alex isn’t looking at him, but staring at the refrigerator. There’s a picture of them there from when they were rookies and young and stupid. Everything seemed easy then, like they were on top of the fucking world and could take on anything. It would be so simple, if they were that young. But they aren’t.

“Okay,” Alex says quietly. He doesn’t look at Nicky. Nicky isn’t sure if he wants him to. “Take all time you need. Then…” He sighs. “You tell me what you want.”

-

That night Nicky goes to bed early. He brushes his teeth and flosses and washes his face, acutely aware of how Alex isn’t there to interrupt his routine. He can hear dishes clinking together in the kitchen, and assumes Alex is cleaning up. 

The bed is cool when he curls up under the covers, the bedroom washed in the moonlight from outside.

Sometime later, Alex comes in. Nicky watches him from half-shut eyes as he walks towards the bed and reaches out a hand towards Nicky’s shoulder. “Nicklas,” he says.

Nicky keeps still, lying on his back. The light from the window hits the ceiling, throwing patterns up against the white. He follows the shadows with his eyes as Alex slides into bed, sheets rustling.

The silence stretches between them, heavier than a blanket. Alex doesn’t try to touch him again. 

It’s a long time before Nicky falls asleep.

-

The next two weeks are fucking awful.

Nicky and Alex – they haven’t fought before, not really. Oh, there’ve been spats about stupid things like how to arrange the fridge – Nicky won – and who gets the most closet space – Alex won – and how to construct their furniture – no one won. But those were all stupid and inconsequential, and they never went to bed on it. 

Nicky’s not used to not really talking to Alex, and he fucking hates it. Even when he was a rookie who knew shit-all English, he had Alex, and hand gestures, and the feeling of success when they managed to connect and get the puck in the net. This is infinitely worse than being lost in translation.

He misses Alex. Which is stupid, because it’s not like Alex went anywhere. They still are in their apartment, still buying groceries, still watching History Channel and reading on the couch.

But they aren’t talking at practice as much, and they skirt around each other at home, and it’s – fuck.

It’s after another long practice of barely communicating and hovering at opposite sides of the rink that Marcus asks if Nicky wants to do lunch, mentioning some inoffensive Italian place where they can load up on carbs. Nicky doesn’t get the reason why until they’re sitting at a table together, waiting after the waitress takes their order, when Marcus leans forward. 

“Are you and Ovi… okay?” he asks.

Nicky pauses and takes a sip of water. “Yeah,” he says carefully. “We’re good.”

“You don’t seem good,” Marcus says frankly. “The team’s noticed.”

Nicky can feel the corner of his mouth tightening. “That’s not – we’re fine. We can play.”

“Maybe,” Marcus says. “But not as well as you could, yeah? Besides, that’s not why we’re worried. We care about you assholes.”

“It’s not – we’ll work it out,” Nicky says, clenching his napkin in one hand. “You don’t have to worry.”

Marcus shrugs. “That’s not going to stop the rookies. You’re lucky I volunteered. Otherwise there’d probably be tears.”

“Jesus fuck,” Nicky says, rubbing at his temples. “Look, tell the team we’ll work it out, okay? They don’t need to stage an intervention or anything.”

“Maybe not, but seriously. We have your backs, whatever it is.”

“Thanks,” Nicky replies softly. “I – we’ll take care of it. Seriously.”

“I know.” Marcus nods. It’s oddly solemn, and – it’s so dumb, that the team would put someone up to this. Nicky’s team of overinvolved idiots. It makes his throat catch a little. 

Thankfully, the waitress comes back with their food before Nicky has to try and say anything, and he starts to eat his ravioli instead. Marcus lets him get away with it, just gives him a look before starting on his lasagna.

-

By the time they’re on the road in Pennsylvania, Nicky’s officially reached the stage of fed up. It’s probably a sign of desperation that he wakes up early on a Saturday just to call his brother.

To Kris’ credit, he manages to pick up the phone on the first try.

“How’s Ingrid?” Nicky asks to start.

“Beautiful, of course,” Kris replies. “Nicky, why are you calling so early?”

“It’s not early,” Nicky mumbles. It is early, it’s six in the fucking morning, actually, but he didn’t want to wake the baby late in the night again.

“I know how time zones work, moron. Tell me why you’re calling.”

“I talked to Alex,” Nicky says.

Kris sighs. “And?”

“It went … not great.” Nicky paces in his hotel room, fiddling with the laminated menu for room service and the channel listing. 

There’s a pause. “What, exactly, does not great mean?”

“He said I should take time to figure out what I want, and now we’re barely talking,” Nicky replies. 

Kris hums. “So?” He asks. “What do you want?”

“I –“ Nicky stops, stares out the window at the hotel parking lot. “For things to go back. I just want us, as we were. Not this – this shit.”

“Well, you can’t go back,” Kris says, sounding solemn but mostly like a little shit. Older brothers.

“I knew that, thanks,” Nicky snaps back.

“But,” Kris says, “you can tell Alex that you want to be with him. And you could also, I don’t know, think about it.”

Nicky sighs. “You’re so helpful,” he groans.

“I know, I am,” Kris replies, sounding entirely too smug. “I can send you pictures of Ingrid as motivation.”

“Do that,” Nicky replies. “And thanks.”

“Always happy to give some wisdom,” Kris laughs. “Want to hear what Ingrid did yesterday?”

“What was my favorite niece up to?” Nicky asks, settling in on the bed to listen. 

Kris takes it as permission to launch into the saga of Ingrid versus baths, a thrilling tale of the sink flooding and soap suds going everywhere. As he gets into the story, Nicky lets his brother’s voice wash over him, feeling his shoulders relax.

When Kris hangs up, Nicky stays there on the bed for a minute longer, looking up at the ceiling. For the first time in a while, he feels settled and certain. Like this time, the future is perfectly clear.

-

The first night after they come back from their road trip, it’s Nicky’s turn to make dinner. Beef stew, specifically, some recipe Nicky’s mom sent him, with cayenne and extra paprika. It’ll be nice for winter, he thinks.

He’s just starting to chop the vegetables when Alex comes back from visiting Andre and Tom, looking pensive.

“I been thinking,” Alex says. 

Nicky looks up, sets the chef’s knife down. “Yes?” he asks.

Alex stands by the kitchen island, away from the sink where Nicky’s chopping vegetables. His hands grip the counter hard enough that Nicky can see his knuckles whiten. “I think about what you tell me before. That marriage is not – not nothing. I know I say that marriage is not big to me, but – it is big to you.”

“Yes,” Nicky says, and waits.

Alex exhales slowly. “I not understand. And I am sorry. I see you tense, didn’t say anything.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nicky replies.

Alex shakes his head. “I not do anything, not ask question. And I’m sorry, Nicky.”

“Thank you.”

Alex rubs his face with his hand, scrubbing at his hair. It’s getting grey, which is still strange to Nicky. When he was eighteen, it felt like he and Alex would be young forever, with so much time left to win and nothing but ice standing in their way.

“I didn’t realize it would be so – that there would be that much change,” Nicky says softly. “I thought – It was just so much, all at once.”

“Yes,” Alex replies. 

Then, “Do you want to do this?” Alex hasn’t moved from his post by the kitchen island. Nicky can see his hands gripping the countertop. “We don’t have to, if you not want.”

It’s like being in that Philadelphia hotel room again, staring up at the ceiling, thinking through all the future possibilities. Nicky wants his life now to last as long as it can. He wants to keep going to sleep next to Alex and wake up to find him still there in the morning. He wants to keep making dinner with Alex, or more accurately protecting the tomatoes from Alex’s tendency to chop them too small and always cooking steak a little rawer than he did when he lived alone. He wants to host team parties at their apartment and not have to be careful about whether an Instagram picture shows the mix of their family photographs on the bookshelf, or if Alex is touching his waist.

Nicky wants all of that, and more, and he wants it with Alex. Not with anyone else. Just Alex.

“I want to be with you,” Nicky says carefully. He doesn’t want the imprecision of English to change what he means. “I don’t want to stop being with you, either. I want –“ He gestures to the space between them. “I want this – you, us. Together.”

Alex looks awfully solemn. It doesn’t suit his face. Alex has a face for smiling, and Nicky finds that he misses seeing it. “I want, too. Doesn’t mean we have to marry now, or ever, if you not want.”

For a second, Nicky doesn’t say anything. Finally, he starts, “I don’t want some fancy ceremony, or a fucking vision, or anything. Just – simple.”

“Okay,” Alex says cautiously.

Nicky takes a step closer, slowly, deliberate. Alex startles, just barely, but then he settles back, meeting Nicky’s gaze. “But I do want to marry you,” he says, still careful and slow. The words feel right when he says them, like they finally make sense. “I want to marry _you_ , Alexander Ovechkin.”

Alex smiles. It’s a sunrise, his whole face lighting up, and then he laughs, and it makes his face even brighter. “That’s not how you do it,” he says, shaking his head a little.

Nicky purses his lips for a second. “You do it, then, if you’re so great.”

For some reason he’s surprised that Alex drops down to one knee, even though of course Alex would. Alex loves a challenge. He even grabs Nicky’s hand, smile getting softer as he holds Nicky’s gaze.

“Nicklas Bäckström,” he says. His fingers are warm against Nicky’s palm. “Will you marry me?”

It shouldn’t be startling, but Nicky sucks in a breath anyways. This time, he knows for sure what the answer is.

“Yes,” he says, slowly and carefully. “Yes, I will.”

Alex smiles at him, and it’s so wide and open that it makes Nicky’s breath catch. He’s forgotten how beautiful Alex is when he smiles.

“Good,” Alex says softly. “I hope you want to.”

“I want to,” Nicky says, holding Alex’s hand tighter. “But you should get off the floor. It’s going to ruin your knees. And we need to make dinner.”

Laughing, Alex stands up and smacks a kiss to Nicky’s cheek. “Of course you the bossiest fiancé.” He surveys the kitchen, still not letting go of Nicky’s hand. “Need help?”

“Only if you promise not to cut anything too small. It’s supposed to be –“ Nicky tries to think of the English for the word his mother used in her email. “Rustic.”

“I cut smallest potatoes,” Alex threatens, before laughing again when Nicky smacks his arm.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Nicky informs him, but it’s hard to sound serious when he’s smiling so hard.

-

“I have a ring for you,” Alex says the next morning. 

The weak winter sunlight still manages to be warm on Nicky’s face. His thighs are aching, neck scratched up a little too from Alex’s stupid beard, and he’s sure he’s disgusting and sticky, and he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Do you now,” Nicky says.

Alex hums into Nicky’s shoulder, beard scraping against skin. His arm is heavy over Nicky’s waist, a solid weight. “Not have to wear it, but.”

“Maybe not in public,” Nicky says, turning his face so his nose is buried in Alex’s hair. “Especially not if it’s ridiculous and gaudy.”

“Like I buy you ridiculous thing,” Alex mumbles. “It is classy and elegant.”

Nicky snorts. “Okay,” he says. “You can show me later.”

The sheets rustle as Alex nods. His breath is warm on Nicky’s neck. 

They should get up, perhaps. Practice is in an hour. 

Instead Nicky turns, shifts down until their noses bump together. He can see Alex smile under his lashes, a quick, bright thing. 

The future can wait. They have plenty of time.


End file.
